1. Yata always had bruises

The day was pale and miserable and everything around them seemed to have taken on a grey tone. Dark grey clouds loomed threateningly on the horizon as if the weather was holding a personal grudge. Through the large glass window, Yata could see the weather forecast on the news predicted the next few days were only going to be even more miserable. Sighing heavily, he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand.

In his other hand, he carried a bag of groceries. Without pausing to watch the rest of the news, he began to amble back to where he figured Fushimi would be waiting by now. He'd barely made it to the street corner when a voice yelled out furiously from behind him, "Hey!"

Shoes scuffed the pavement and Yata looked over his shoulder casually. His eyes widened when he recognised the squashed face glaring back at him. I thought he was down for good. Damn. "What the fuck do you want now?" he demanded, his eyebrows knitting and deepening and semi-permanent scowl he wore.

"A rematch!" the guy shouted, pointing a stubby finger Yata. His lip was dribbling blood down his chin; his right eye swollen shut and already developing a purple bruise.

And he still wants more? Well I won't hold back this time. Yata dropped the bag and rushed the guy, twisting mid-stride to kick him in the shin. As he stumbled, Yata dug his elbow into the small of his back, making sure he fell face first into the concrete. He drew back his leg to kick the guy in the side, but a fist came out of nowhere, aiming for his cheek.

He ducked and moved backwards, raising his fists and growling curses at the newcomer. They must be in this together. That cheating bastard. The first three punches Yata threw were easily dodged and the fourth barely grazed the lanky guy's jaw. The guy grinned at him tauntingly, only pissing him off even more. He swore angrily, advancing in a flurry of kicks that were simply swatted away.

The original squashed-face guy was on his feet again now, although slightly unsteady. Yata barely had time to catch his breath before his arms were caught in a vice-like grip. He struggled, but he couldn't free himself. If it had just been the one guy... The lanky guy was on him now, his fists almost as fast as his dodging. Yata's stomach ached and he wondered if he had internal bleeding.

2. Sometimes they didn't eat enough

Eventually, the two thugs left Yata curled up on the sidewalk, arms wrapped protectively around his stomach. At least they didn't kick me in the balls. He clambered to his feet, feeling the signs of exhaustion setting in. Streetlights began to flicker on as the sun decided to desert the sky. Yata cursed at the spot where he'd dropped the bag of groceries. Obviously it was gone now.

Dragging his feet dejectedly, he cut through the nearest cramped alleyway, kicking up discarded flyers that nobody had ever paid attention to even when they'd been stapled to the telephone poles. Almost in time with his footsteps, his stomach rumbled quietly.

"Hey," he mumbled, greeting Fushimi when he spotted him lazing against a street sign on the corner. Even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't have raised a hand to wave. His joints ached and he was tired beyond the point of being tired.

"Did you get the food?" Fushimi asked, glancing up from his fingernails now that something more interesting had finally arrived. One look at Yata told him the answer. "I guess not," he sighed. Standing up straight, he towered over his friend. He often made jokes about it, but even he could see now wasn't the time for that. Besides, he was hungry. "I'm going home," he announced, brushing past Yata without another word.

Yata decided to follow suit and head home, willing there to be a can of soup left in the cupboard. Even if it was tomato, at this point he didn't care. Navigating the streets during the night was about the same as during the day. He knew if he avoided the alleys from here, he'd get home without any more trouble.

Knocking on the door would have been pointless since he lived on his own. Fumbling, he retrieved his keys from his pocket and let himself in, making a B-line for the under-stocked kitchen. He released a huff of breath somewhere between a sigh and a groan and slammed the cupboard door closed. Toast it is, then.

3. They both hated Literature class

Fushimi's elbow was propped up on the edge of his desk, his palm simultaneously supporting and squashing his cheek. His slender fingers held a blue biro that doodled aimlessly in his notebook. He wore the same bored expression as most of his classmates.

Every now and then he would glance out the window or remind himself not to drool. His eyes were trained on the blackboard, but his brain refused to absorb the information. It was just a mass of jumbled letters that seemed more like a foreign language at the moment. He could pass all the exams, but it didn't mean he liked the class.

On the other side of the classroom, Yata was in the same boat – the SS. Literature Hatred – except he wasn't passing any of the exams. And he wasn't even looking at the blackboard. His head was resting on the desk and he was snoring lightly. The guy next to him had learnt the hard way not to wake him up.

When the teacher called on Fushimi to answer a question, regardless of whether he was paying attention or not, he usually gave the correct answer. When she called on Yata, he usually stammered something incoherent, made a little squeaking noise, and abruptly sat down again. The other students laughed at him for it once. Once.

4. Yata had too much time on his hands

While Fushimi was studious and had maxed out the amount of classes he could take, Yata was content to scrape by with the bare minimum. His school days were divided into two – half the day consisted of being bored, the other half consisted of wondering what to do.

The first few months were spent trying to pick fights with every student who asked "What class do you have next?" He soon grew bored of that and decided to pick up a hobby. The only problem was that nothing seemed to really interest him. He found basketball boring, and he was too short to play anyway. He didn't have the patience or the creativity for art. He couldn't cook to save his life. Occasionally, he found a book to read, but it was rare. He refused to study with Fushimi.

And then he discovered baseball.

Baseball was great. He went to every match their school hosted, and sat in whenever the team held practice sessions. He loved the roles the players held, the way the ball travelled, all the different elements involved. He didn't own a TV, so he went into the electronics store sometimes just to watch baseball. It took weeks, but he saved up enough money and bought his own metal baseball bat.

After shyly making friends with some of the team members, he finally worked up the nerve to ask the coach if he could join the team. The coach admired Yata's enthusiasm and agreed.

5. He sucked

Oh boy, did he suck. But at least he knew he sucked. He played a grand total of two matches, was accused of being the reason for the team's defeat, and was promptly kicked off the team.

It didn't matter, he still loved baseball.

Yata knew he wasn't really talented at anything. He wasn't like Fushimi, who could always effortlessly get good grades. Even though he felt like a failure, he still kept trying.